sit and listen to the worms

the house on the hill, far after dark. stop here, this is where you can see it best. but not the french doors you'd love, you can't see them from this view.. there's a room where you could have an art studio. there's a drawing room that begs for guitars to be hung on the wall. oh you, look at the view, it's like a city. like a tiny city. look at those lights. it's like a real city, like one-eightieth of a new york city skyline. driving country roads in the dark...my palms aren't as sweaty as they were a month ago. it's still all "what's going on with the road"s and "i'm scared, i have to slow down"s and "it's so dark out here"s. but i don't think about a car crash anymore. not like a month ago when i couldn't even drive those roads and stay calm. if i make it there first, will you join me in heaven? two hands on the wheel at all times. can't man the ipod. downshift to fourth on the turns. especially in the rain. especially in the dark. spying out the roofs you wouldn't reach. always commenting on the view and how dark it is. always wanting to get out of the car and lay in the grass. it's impossible to find a place in the rain that doesn't smell like fish. err, like worms. "why is it that worms smell like fish and we use worms to catch fish?" you're talking about worms, and i have anger bubbling up right under the surface like the wine bubbling through the tiny hole in the cap of the pom glass. ya know wine looks like pomegranate juice. boy, how smart you've gotten. mind the speed bumps. don't cross the line. take this turn in fourth. i can't see the lines on the road in the rain. here's the bridge again! walk with me in the rain. hold the umbrella for me. i want to hear you whine. don't cross the line. wait for me. i can't move in this rain. i can't think in this humidity. don't talk about the future. have hope when there is none.